


last day

by fieryrondo



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, NOT a retirement fic, Unbeta'ed, literally a first draft, prayerfic, pre-Europeans 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryrondo/pseuds/fieryrondo
Summary: It's a day like any other.





	last day

**Author's Note:**

> The whole point of this fic was to slip in a Prometo reference.

It’s a day like any other.

 

It begins with bleary eyes and morning breath. The time glows at him in insolent red. Javi screws his eyes shut before opening them again. He isn’t a teenager anymore. So he shucks off the covers, the borrowed sheets still clean and free of fur. He brushes his teeth. Shaves. Makes breakfast. Drops the can opener back into the drawer when he realizes he doesn’t need it.

 

Force of habit.

 

Shoving toast in his mouth, Javi leaves the apartment, the wind’s teeth gnawing at his skin. Not a moment to spare. He chases after the bus. Almost impales himself on an ice-slicked fire hydrant. Very dramatic. But he makes it, the swinging weight of his gear bag an old friend in his hand.

 

At the club, Javi pilfers a cup of coffee from the lounge room. It tastes exactly the way Javi remembers it, rich chalky earth with hints of Styrofoam. To his surprise, he finds Yuzuru hunched over at the little table in the corner, a pencil pressed to his cheek. Yuzuru frowns, his brow furrowing like an old man as he writes. He pauses, _really_ frowns, and rips the page out. Wads it up into a neat ball where it joins its discarded brethren by his elbow.

 

“Hell of a homework assignment.”

 

“Hello Javi." Yuzuru smiles. Seven years later, it’s just as bright. Self-conscious of the mess, Yuzuru clears his throat. Gathers the wads with the efficiency only a double Olympic champion can have. Javi moves to help but Yuzuru waves him off.

 

“My mess. I clean up,” Yuzuru says. His eyes crinkle into a knowing grin. “I thought I saw Brian look for you."

 

Javi checks the time. Curses loudly. A daily ritual. 

 

Yuzuru laughs.

 

Some things never did change.

 

Javi finds Brian. To his relief, it's just paperwork. He signs out his locker and hands back his keys and club card. Brian accepts them, his eyes suspiciously bright.

 

"You know that there will always be a place for you here."

 

Javi nods, not entirely trusting himself to not blubber like an idiot if he says anything more.

 

Warm up. Javi skates, feels the push of ice against his blades. Of all practices, he wants to remember this one. So he tries his best to make it a good one. He works with Brian, works with Tracy, works with Paige and Ghislain. He runs through his programs. Fills the ice with unapologetically Spanish music. It's tough. His sleepy muscles protest with fire. He's out of breath. He falls on his ass, made painfully aware of the limitations of his own body. Sochi. Marseilles. Helsinki. For a flicker of a moment, a chill colder than any rink ice shoots through his veins. But the memory of experience--two decades worth--is etched far too deeply into his bones for him to ever forget. Even if he wanted to.

 

Bit by bit, it comes back. It _all_ comes back. The toe. The salchow. ("Loop?" Yuzuru suggests with a cheeky smirk.) Every jump, spin, and step. Shanghai. Boston. Pyeongchang. Triumphs, both new and old, unfurl from his thoughts like a flag of red and gold. But most of all, Javi remembers one magical night not so long ago, his skates singing a promise bereft of gray goodbyes. Before he knows it, the notes fade away and Brian is by the victory bell, ringing the brass for all its worth.

 

"But it wasn't clean?" Javi raises an eyebrow.

 

Brian grins.

 

"Close enough."  

 

**Author's Note:**

> So the plan was to write something after Euros. But I don't know what kind of mental state I'll be in, nor do I have the writing chops to do it justice. In the end, I wanted to write about a perfectly ordinary day. A simple day. Because that's sort of like Javi, isn't it?


End file.
